Of Hell and Hand Baskets
by GrandEclectus
Summary: Fawkes and Hobbes are suffering the aftermath of their last disastrous mission. It was an exercise in Murphy’s Law, where everything that could go wrong, went wrong and then some.
1. Info

Title: Of Hell and Hand Baskets  
  
Status: Complete  
  
Author: Betsy (aka AnitaLife, because honest to god, I really need a life!)  
  
E-me: betsybird27@hotmail.com  
  
Feedback: Sure.  
  
Disclaimers: This bit of nonsense is meant as a tribute. It is not meant as an infringement on the rights of the owners/creators of The Invisible Man which is the property of Stu Segall Productions.  
  
Rating: PG. Some language.  
  
Archive: Sure; just let me know where it ends up so I can get you the most recent version.  
  
Spoilers: None that I'm aware of.  
  
Synopsis: Fawkes and Hobbes are suffering the aftermath of their last disastrous mission. It was an exercise in Murphy's Law, where everything that could go wrong, went wrong and then some. The future of their livelihoods, their friendship and the Agency itself hang in the balance. 


	2. Called on the Carpet Burns

Of Hell and Hand Baskets  
  
Squirrel Agents  
  
I once slapped a bumper sticker on the back of Golda that read "Where are we going, and why are we in this hand basket?" Hobbes was not amused, but I thought it was appropriate. The bumper sticker could have also contained the old adage: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."  
  
Now I know for certain we're both on greased skids to that fiery destination of legend. Our epitaphs will no doubt read "They meant well."  
  
Called on the Carpet Burns  
  
The Official sat behind his desk like a smoldering volcano. His Agents' last case report was open on this desk. He was sorting through the pile of receipts for damages and conferring in hushed tones with his able aide and bean counter, Eberts.  
  
It wasn't bad enough that Fawkes and Hobbes had messed up. They KNEW they'd screwed the pooch, big time, on this fiasco of a mission. But the worst part was that it threatened the very foundation of the Agency itself, such as it was.  
  
The partners sat like truant 12 year olds in the Principal's Office, with their hands limply on their laps. Their physical injuries had been minimal. Hobbes' hand was bandaged loosely, and Fawkes had some scrapes on his face.  
  
"What is this expense?" He asked them levelly.  
  
"To replace the couch, sir." Bobby responded almost inaudibly.  
  
"What? I didn't hear you." demanded the Official gruffly.  
  
"To replace one of the couches, that was burned, sir. It was part of the furniture bill." Hobbes responded.  
  
The large older man again conferred with Eberts. They spoke in whispers and exchanged several pieces of paper.  
  
"And this one. Emergency veterinary services?"  
  
"Yes sir." Bobby's voice dropped lower again.  
  
"The creature in question being Vietnamese Pot Bellied Pig?" The Official pursed his lips in and out.  
  
"Yes, sir." Hobbes grimly intoned, and felt prompted by the Official's questioning eyes. "A beloved family pet. Unfortunately, it passed away."  
  
"Of course. This?"  
  
"For the Ambassador's hair piece." offered Eberts, to Hobbes' relief.  
  
"Yes, Ambassador Steele. And, this one?"  
  
"Haz-Mat Disposal fees."  
  
"Disposal fees. For disposing what exactly?" he asked sharply, repressing a snarl on his upper lip.  
  
"Ah, there was a misdirected shipment of radium."  
  
"Uh huh. And, the last and still my favorite." He waved the bill in the air.  
  
"Poultry Transport."  
  
He paused, looking up over his glasses at the boys.  
  
"$45,000 damages for loss of business and live stock." He took off his glasses and ran his hand roughly over his face and eyes.  
  
"You destroyed a bless-ed chicken truck! Your parents would be so proud!" he said through clenched teeth.  
  
He glared at his two crack agents, his eyes piercing them like laser beams. There was no sound except the ticking of a clock, a far away hollow sound.  
  
"You've been unusually quiet, Mister Fawkes. Do you have anything to add?"  
  
Ouch! "Mister" Fawkes, just like when you're in really big trouble and mom uses your full name. If Fawkes ever really wanted to be invisible in his life, it was right this minute.  
  
"No sir. I don't. But."  
  
"But what? But WHAT? Do you two have any idea of the repercussions from your incompetent, lame-brained, muddle-headed, idiotic actions?"  
  
Fawkes winced and Hobbes squeezed his eyes shut. "Just shut up, kid." Hobbes thought. "This isn't the first time we've been taken to the woodshed with the belt collection, and if we're LUCKY, it may not be the last!"  
  
Official Charles Borden rose slowly pushing himself up with his hand planted squarely on his desk. He walked out from behind it, rearing up like a grisly bear stalking a beached salmon. He brought his face down at level with Darien's.  
  
"One more question, Fawkes. Just one more.  
  
"Before you commandeered and subsequently crashed the helicopter did you raise your arms and say 'Hey Hobbes, watch this!'?"  
  
Darien's face reddened and he couldn't help but slouch into his chair.  
  
The Official pulled himself up to his full height and glanced toward Eberts who was cowering in the shadows. Eberts was not being chewed out, of course, but his boss's constrained wrath was enough to make him want to be anywhere but here. Given the mood the boss was in, he would eventually take it out on the hapless accountant.  
  
The Official towered with menace over his agents.  
  
"Do I need to remind you two of the dire consequences this entire project faces in the coming weeks?"  
  
No really, he didn't. But sure, he was going to.  
  
"This could mean that the entire I-man Project may be disbanded. Hobbes may be relieved permanently and never work in any government agency again, not even in a janitorial capacity!  
  
"Claire will do well in pharmaceutical research and Fawkes.  
  
"Fawkes." he paused.  
  
"Fawkes! I can sell you for PARTS!"  
  
Darien cringed. The Fat Man was NOT kidding.  
  
"Fawkes will either be "reassigned" into the clutches of another agency or worse. You think you have it bad here, kid?" He wagged a scolding finger at Darien. "Wait until you see what some other agencies will do with you! Or maybe you don't like daylight and regular meals! **  
  
"Or, the gland could be "harvested" and you'll be left with whatever fallout that would precipitate including your own death or irreparable mental and physical disabilities.  
  
"Though given this recent fiasco, I'm not sure anyone will notice any mental deficiencies.  
  
"But worst of all gentlemen, I will be disgraced, a laughing stock, forced to early retirement on a limited fixed income. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
He paused and took a shaking breath in as if to wind up again, but thought better of it. He could feel his blood pressure rise into the danger zone. He tamped at his face and forehead with a folded handkerchief.  
  
"You are BOTH relieved of duty for the remainder of the week, without pay. I'll decide what to do with you next week, if indeed, there IS a next week for any of us."  
  
The two agents sat in stunned silence.  
  
"Well? What are you waiting for? Get out of here, and don't let me catch hide nor hair of either one of you until Monday morning. And I might add Fawkes, PUNCTUALLY, on Monday." He sputtered, finally beginning to openly lose it.  
  
Finally! Descent to Hell, Part Seventeen, was over and the partners beat a hasty retreat toward the door. They smashed into each other, did an "after you" "no after you" routine, ran into each other again, and finally pushed together out of the room. Under any other circumstances, they world have laughed at their impromptu Stooges gag, but they didn't even realize it had happened. 


	3. Original Rock Star

Original Rock Star  
  
Sisyphus was this Greek dude who'd been too smart for his own good. He had the audacity to snub Zeus so the all powerful god doomed him to a never- ending task. He had to push a big boulder up a steep hill. After all his efforts when he'd gotten it to the top, it would roll back down and he'd have to start over again. Pretty silly, huh?  
  
We are told by Camus that Sisyphus is the absurd hero "as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing."  
  
If I had been Sisyphus said rock would have rolled over me, turned around and then rolled uphill for a second pass.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Outside the Office  
  
The duo spilled out of the building that was now bore the emblem of the National Agency for Toxic Substances Institute.  
  
"Hobbes I." Darien attempted.  
  
Hobbes turned on him with his finger up in the taller man's face. "Don't say a word!"  
  
"I."  
  
"Uh uh! That's a word! I SAID NOT A WORD!" he scolded.  
  
Darien looked thoroughly beaten as his partner walked away. His old tan jacket seemed more tattered than ever. Even his hair had to fallen down.  
  
He really wanted to apologize. He really wanted to know that Hobbes wouldn't abandon him to the fates. If he were going to lose Bobby too, it would just be the maraschino cherry on the banana split, the "perfect" end to a "perfect" day. He sighed with resignation, sat down and slumped on the concrete stairs with head in hands  
  
Hobbes charged across the street unaware that his partner had stopped on the steps. As he rounded his van he realized that Darien was not in tow. He turned back and stood for a moment watching him. The taller man was the picture of dejection. Despite his 6'2" statue, Darien looked more like a small boy who'd lost his puppy, all crumpled with his sunken chest.  
  
No matter what Hobbes had been feeling himself, he just couldn't leave Darien there like that.  
  
Rising up out of his own self-pity, Hobbes felt his heart begin to ache for Darien. Fawkes had not meant for disaster upon disaster to occur. True, The Official had a right to be angry, but he had also been unfair during the scene in the office, adding insult to injury.  
  
Darien had done his best. Really he had. But, Murphy's Law had taken over this case, and there was nothing either one of them could have done differently.  
  
Hobbes felt some of that mother hen thing that Darien had always accused him of.  
  
"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Kid's making me turn soft!" He muttered to himself as he pounded his fist on the side of the van then began crossing back over the street to where Darien had collapsed.  
  
Hobbes stood over Darien and offered his hand to help him up.  
  
"C'mon, kid. I'll buy ya a brew."  
  
Darien choked up and accepted the proffered hand, happy that he had not lost his best friend in the deal as well. He looked into Hobbes' eyes and no more words were needed. So far, he'd managed to hold back his tears, but he was close.  
  
At that moment, Claire ran out of the office building's door, her lab coat flapping in the wind.  
  
"Bobby! Darien! I'm glad I caught you. Eberts just told me what happened! I'm so sorry!" Her pretty face was furrowed with worry lines for them both.  
  
"Hi Claire. Thanks. Fawkes and I had better get the heck out of here. I don't want to give Borden any more opportunities to skin us alive."  
  
"I'm coming with you."  
  
"No, Claire, you should say here at work. The Fat Man is on a rampage. Don't think he won't take it out on you too! He's already planning your future career OUTSIDE of this Agency."  
  
"I don't care! I want to hear about everything from you two, not second hand and not from a report!"  
  
"Darien! Are you OK?"  
  
She checked his tattoo automatically as he presented his wrist listlessly, purely out of habit. It was mostly green.  
  
"Depends how you define "OK"." he muttered.  
  
"C'mon! Pub then?" she asked.  
  
Hobbes and Claire flanked Darien, each holding one of his arms and pulling him along. 


	4. Flashback to the Briefing

Booze Heals-at the bar I  
  
The trio sat in a secluded booth in a quiet section of the bar. It was Monday night, and off Football season, so they had some privacy and quiet.  
  
"And, that's when the helicopter crashed into the mansion?" Claire asked as she sipped her Stout.  
  
"No, that was much later." Hobbes explained.  
  
"So, how did the pig get killed?  
  
"No you're getting ahead of me here. I thought you wanted to hear this."  
  
"I do, but I'm confused."  
  
"Me too. It all happened so fast. Then again, it felt like it took place in slow motion!"  
  
"You know, this started out like every other case we've ever worked on. Monday Morning Briefing . . .  
  
* * * * * * * * * Flashback to the Briefing  
  
It was the Monday Morning Briefing, just like any other boring, achingly dull Monday Morning Briefing. Monday. Morning. But anything but BRIEF.  
  
Darien was bored and slouched in the hard chair in the Official's office. His long leg was draped casually over the arm of the chair. His eyes were directed at a bird that was flitting around outside the window and he was clicking his teeth with his thumbnail.  
  
Hobbes was trying to pay attention enough for the two of them, since Darien was off in his daydreams while the Official gave them the details of their upcoming assignment. Sometimes he hated being the "good one".  
  
"It will be like a vacation. A working vacation." the Official added quickly. "You'll be on the Island of Idyll in the Caribbean. It's an exclusive private island and you'll be working at one of the mansions belonging to Stephen J. Steele."  
  
Hobbes asked. "We'll be investigating Stephen J. Steele? That Stephen J. Steele?  
  
"Yes, THAT Stephen J Steele. Ambassador. Businessman. International Policy maker, renowned Brain Surgeon and Fashion Designer. And, his wealth is believed to exceed the wealth of Bill Gates by approximately 10 fold. He has his fingers in every pie, gentlemen, including the US Government.  
  
"And, no, he's not the subject of this investigation. He has asked us to come in and check some of his people.  
  
"Our lead from National Agency for Toxic Substances Institute says there could be any number of activities being run out of the Steele compound. The operation may entail any or all of the following: Drug Running, Classified Information Clearinghouse, Arms Deals, Smart Bombs, and Mail Fraud. I want you two to infiltrate, verify and disrupt operations to the best of your abilities.  
  
"NATSI". Darien chuckled, reminding Hobbes of Beavis or Butthead. He didn't know which one."  
  
"I beg your pardon, Fawkes." asked the Official dryly.  
  
"The acronym for our new parent agency of the week Tat da da daah!" He pounded his knee in a mock drum roll, "NATSI. Sounds like NAZI."  
  
"Very clever, Fawkes. And, it's awfully nice of you to join our little conversation.  
  
"Eberts? Details, please."  
  
"Well, yes, sir." Eberts was pleased to be asked to participate.  
  
"This situation is hot, gentlemen."  
  
"Ooo, Eberts! How hot?" jibed Darien, with mock interest. Hobbes suppressed a tight lipped smile.  
  
"Very hot." Eberts continued, not picking up on Darien's sarcasm. "It will require great discretion, the kid glove treatment, and a most delicate hand. You must perform your duties under complete cover. Your presence must never be detected.  
  
"As you are aware, Mr. Steele's is very powerful and his influence even stems to our own Agency. In any case, no knowledge of your identities or your connection to this Agency must ever be found."  
  
"Fawkes, can you repeat anything that's been said in this meeting?" barked The Official.  
  
"Why, yes I can, as a matter of fact. There's this ga-jillionaire whose people might be up to their silver spoons in some low down dirty dealings. But said ga-jillionaire also has his agile meat hooks in every carcass on the planet and lots of clout to kick our collective asses back to the Cretaceous Era.  
  
"With me so far?" But, before they could answer he went on while their mouths still hung open.  
  
"You want us to work our wizardry and presumably my glandular juju" he held up his tattoo, "and torpedo that which threatens our national security. But best of all, you want us to make double sure their people never find any trace of our handy work and get back here to your doorstep and cut into your pension fund."  
  
Hobbes' eyebrows went up. "Good Fawkes. You get a cookie." he said while he thought "Kid's smarter than he looks."  
  
The Official looked disgusted, and slapped some folders on his desk. As long as he was getting it down, the glib sonnofa.  
  
"Hobbes!" the official snapped. "Do you have any questions?"  
  
"No sir. Fawkes' explanation was quite clear." He answered sincerely.  
  
"If I weren't sending you on an important mission, I'd be locking you both in irons! Now get out of here and do this thing."  
  
"Sir? I'm sorry. What did I do?" asked Hobbes with genuine confusion. Well, nothing, but hey, it was guilt by association, the very association that was foisted upon both of them by the agency itself.  
  
"Don't say another word, Hobbes!" snapped the Official. "GO!"  
  
They didn't have to be told twice. Well, maybe they did. 


	5. USDArien

Meanwhile, back at the OK Corral  
  
"And, that was it, Claire." Bobby continued in the bar. "Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.  
  
"Ya know, before we left I remember lecturing the kid about planning and foresight. Sheesh. It's not like we didn't try."  
  
"You know what he said to me? 'Hobbes. We can handle this. It'll be OK.' Those were his very words."  
  
"Bobby," she put her hand on his lower arm by way of comfort.  
  
"I said to him.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * Wisdom of a Fool  
  
"You have to have a plan that's been thought through to its logical conclusion, my friend." Hobbes lectured Fawkes as they walked down the hall. "It's all about foresight spurred by experience."  
  
"Hobbes, can you just spare me the platitudes. My head's pounding; I really need a shot."  
  
"Sure, kid. I'll catch you later. I've got to talk with Eberts about the travel plans."  
  
"Yeah, you do that. You know where I'll be." said Darien as he massaged the back of his head. "And, hey, Hobbes. We can handle this. It'll be OK."  
  
The uneasy truce between the two men was always tested when Darien's QSM was approaching. At least Hobbes had learned when to back off. Some times he even allowed himself to feel sorry for the punk, but it wasn't often that he indulged in those thoughts. This was business, and Fawkes was more than his partner; he was his responsibility.  
  
Not only did he have to protect the gland, he felt that he had to watch the kid's back. Sure, he had some street smarts, in his own inexperienced and clumsy way. He was cocky enough, but did he have the chops to back up the flip attitude. No. This business took instinct, but Agents didn't survive on viscera alone. Fawkes was too young and too green and really, the last thing Hobbes wanted was to see the kid splattered all over the pavement while trying to crack the last word.  
  
* * * * * * * * * USDArien  
  
"You know, Claire, I have no idea what we could have done to prevent any of this! It seems like no matter what we did to make it better, it got worse. If this had been a movie I saw instead of sitting here watching my life pass before my eyes, I might give it an A rating and recommend it to my friends!"  
  
"And, Darien, how long was he invisible?" she asked with her usual professional interest.  
  
"Ha! Small mercies! Just a few minutes. Amazing how much trouble we can get ourselves into without the threat of Quicksilver Madness.  
  
"He was under cover as one of the catering staff, and I was on the other side of the compound as part of security. We started spotting Arnaud's people and they spotted us, after everything started to unravel. It didn't matter any more."  
  
"Mmm" She hummed, thinking about the report she had seen. "Now, what is this about the squirrel?"  
  
Hobbes got quiet.  
  
"That was what started it. If it weren't for that damn rodent!" Hobbes' blood began to boil thinking of how the whole mess had been catalyzed. He could trace it back to the opportunistic squirrel that was in the wrong place, at the wrong time.  
  
"If I didn't know better, I'd think that damn thing had planned it and is some where he and his furry friends are out there laughing their bushy tales off at us right now!"  
  
He took a long draught of his Corona.  
  
Earlier, Darien had taken a Sharpie pen, gone into the men's room and drew a diagram on his torso. Liver. Kidneys, Heart, Stomach, Spleen and a big pointer to the back of his head that read "GLAND" in large friendly letters. It was meant to be like a butcher's map of the parts that The Official had threatened to sell.  
  
He kept pulling his T-Shirt up and pointing at bits and naming prices. Claire and Bobby pleaded with him to stop it, pulling his shirt back down.  
  
"You've had enough to drink, Darien!" scolded Claire as she pulled the beer away from him.  
  
"Yes. Yes I have had enough." and he laid his head down on his folded arms on the table.  
  
"Yeah, Claire. I think we've all had enough. I'm gonna run the kid home, and make sure he's OK. Maybe I'll hang out on his couch for awhile."  
  
"That would give me some peace of mind, Bobby. Thanks. Call me if you need anything. I'm here for both of you." she smiled sympathetically.  
  
"Hey, it's the least I can do. If we're really lucky, we won't accidentally demolish his apartment building." 


	6. Blue Monday

Monday AM, On Time!  
  
After a depressing week spent licking their wounds, the partners were back in the Official's office for another Monday. And perhaps for the final level of Hell. Darien had indeed been punctual. He sat up in his chair with none of his old defiance. Today might be the first day of the rest of their lives in homeless shelters.  
  
Claire had joined them for this meeting, to lend moral support and because what would be said at this meeting would also effect her life and career.  
  
There were some far away sirens that began to get louder until their sources stopped right beneath the office's window. The Official motioned to Eberts who looked down onto the street.  
  
"Um, sir? There's a diplomatic motorcade down there. I believe it's Ambassador Steele!"  
  
"What? HERE?" spouted a stunned Official.  
  
The whole group moved to the window and stared down at the brigade of black official vehicles that had descended upon them  
  
Before any of them could make a move, several men in black suits burst into the office. They were giving the "All Clear" for the Ambassador to make his entrance.  
  
"Charlie! Charlie Borden!" said the bald well-dressed man who flew into the room with a flourish. "How wonderful it is to finally meet you in person."  
  
"Sir! I want to thank you for visiting our humble offices. This is quite a surprise. May I offer you. . ."started a dumbfounded Official.  
  
"I just wanted to thank you in person! Are these Fawkes and Hobbes, the leaders of your crack team?"  
  
"Why, yes, they are." he smiled, as if last week's meeting with the boys had never happened.  
  
"Sheesh," thought Hobbes, "For whatever else I might think, Fat Man really knows how to play the game!"  
  
"I'm so pleased to be able to thank you in person!" he shook Fawkes and Hobbes hands with great vigor.  
  
"Charlie! You look confused! Why yes, I realize that things didn't go perfectly well during the mission, but when your team created the diversion, I was able to pick out friends and foes. Once they were routed out, my loyal team made short work of them. And I found out exactly what had been going on right under my nose! In other words, you smoked them out and we took them down! It was beautiful! How did you two do it?"  
  
"Well," said Fawkes with false modesty, "I don't want to give away all our trade secrets."  
  
"Sir" ventured Hobbes "I want to apologize for the damage."  
  
"Nonsense! It's all been dealt with. I was looking to redecorate that part of the mansion. Now I can rebuild it. And, the chopper was last year's model. Out with the old, I always say! It was all insured, you know."  
  
"Oh, and I want you all to meet my fiancée, Madison Ethans." A stunning, sophisticated woman entered the room behind the Ambassador. She was conferring with Steele's aides and making plans.  
  
"I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, thanks to all of you." he told them.  
  
"Hello, Official Borden." she greeted with a velvet tone. "Good day, Agent Fawkes and Agent Hobbes." she greeted them with practiced poise. "I also want to extend my warmest thanks. Stephen has been singing your praises all week long for your exceptional work."  
  
"When Agent Fawkes knocked that silly hairpiece into the punch bowl," Steele continued "Madison decided she could then see the real me! That's when she finally said she'd marry me! She says bald men are the sexiest men on the planet and it's because we have so much testosterone."  
  
He winked knowingly at Hobbes who smiled and nodded slightly, looking quite pleased.  
  
"Sir, um, I just wanted to express my condolences for your daughter's pet ." started Fawkes, sincerely.  
  
"Oh don't mention that damn pig! I loathed that thing!"  
  
"Sir??" asked Fawkes in amazement.  
  
"My daughter used to keep it in the mansion and it reeked! She has her ponies, so I told her I didn't want to hear another thing about that filthy thing.  
  
"Now, let's get to the heart of my visit. My contacts have told me that your agency is under funded. I had to pull a lot of strings to find out about what's really going on here and I think it's frankly amazing. I can use a well oiled team like yours. I'm prepared to accept you under the auspices of my agency, Agency for Dental & Craniofacial Institute of Disease.  
  
"What do you say, Charlie? And, make sure everyone gets bonuses and raises. Madison, make a note, please."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"We'll be hammering out all the details, but for this week, why don't you all rest up! We've got big things planned for you all!"  
  
And just like that the entourage was gone, leaving the "crack team" in stunned silence. Except for Fawkes whose mind was working.  
  
"ADCID. Hmm. Addict. Acid. I think I can work with that."  
  
He was instantly showered with a barrage of paper wads from everyone in the room.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Author's notes:  
  
This story was inspired in part by This American Life's presentation of Squirrel Cop. You can listen to this fantastic program at:  
  
  
  
You will need RealAudio to listen to this presentation. The Squirrel Cop section is approximately 19 minutes into the show. Advance the slider until it reads 19 minutes.  
  
**Reference to CairisRin's wonderful I-man antiverse story, "What If." 


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